


Lost Time

by green_ola



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV), wayhaught - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Flashbacks, Historical fiction;, Lost Love, Non-Linear Narrative, WWII;, pre- and post-war Europe;, the wheel of history doesn't give a shit about your plans;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_ola/pseuds/green_ola
Summary: Major historical events affect people indiscriminately and without any regard for personal plans and livelihoods. When Waverly and Nicole get separated because of the war, Waverly believes it to be only a temporary inconvenience. Little does she know that the wheel of history would toss them to the opposite sites of the world. Can she find Nicole again, or will it be too late?
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 124
Kudos: 124





	1. Present. December 1972.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been nagging me for a while now, and I figured this would be a good time to tell it. I don't think anyone realizes how grand historical events affect the lives of ordinary people, and - unfortunately - we all got a small taste of it with COVID-19.
> 
> I'm trying a new format here: short chapters with more frequent updates. I'll shoot for a M/W/F schedule over the next three weeks.
> 
> Sit back, enjoy, and let me know what ya'll think!

Present

December 1972 

The snow stopped falling a few hours ago, blanketing New York’s streets in white powder, making it look fresh and clean, like newly changed bedsheets. Champagne glass in her hand, Waverly looked outside their 5th Avenue apartment window, enjoying the serene picture of Central Park in the winter. It was a perfect day in every regard. A soft smile crept onto her face as she was surrounded by joyous chatter of their family and friends. She turned back to the living room and sipped her drink with quiet satisfaction that the retirement party she had been planning for months was such a success.

Her husband, James, was stood by the Christmas tree surrounded by his work associates. Someone must have told a joke, and they all laughed, already relaxed and loosened by the freely-flowing alcohol. It was a rare image; they all held high-level positions on Wall Street, and Waverly couldn’t recall the last time she saw so many of them happily chatting in one room. James was young, but at 58, he was already able to retire comfortably, a decision Waverly wholeheartedly agreed with.

Their son, James Jr., looked like a spitting image of his father, with his smart suit, crispy white button-up shirt, and a grey tie. Waverly even agreed with his insistence to wear flared pants tonight, so proud of him she was. Only 22 years old, Junior fit right in with his father’s colleagues, navigating skillfully through the packed apartment and entertaining all the guests.

A soft melody of jazz standards filled the room. Junior had tried to convince her to go with something more modern, more _groovy_ , but Waverly had been resolute in her choice even after learning how expensive good pianists were. Unlike all the latest folk-rock and pop songs dominating the radio stations, there was something timeless about jazz, and no amount of persuasion would change her mind. No nonsense, like, ‘ _Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.’_ What did that even mean?

Noticing now mostly empty trays of appetizers, Waverly set off to the kitchen to find the catering crew and instruct them to serve more canapes. The golden dress hugged her body in a way that made her self-conscious, so she crossed her arms, covering most of her torso. James requested that she wore that dress tonight, and Waverly didn’t have the heart to decline. He always wanted to _show her off_ , a fact she found both charming and strangely flattering when they had first started dating almost 25 years back. A chant of her husband’s nickname stopped her by the door. She turned around with a smile on her face, watching him surrounded by a clapping group of excited men.

“Champ, Champ, Champ!” the crowd demanded a speech.

James clinked a spoon against the glass tumbler in his hand and cleared his throat. Waverly didn’t hear his first words as their maid, Mary, whispered in her ear about a telephone call.

“Can it wait? James is giving his speech,” Waverly tried to banish the irritation from her voice. After all, it wasn’t Mary’s fault that someone decided to phone at this hour. Whoever this was, they could wait. Waverly was certain of it.

“It’s your sister, ma’am,” Mary responded, letting Waverly decide for herself.

The room erupted in a burst of collective laughter. Even her father-in-law chuckled good-naturedly. Waverly stole a glance at James, who stood in the center of their living room, proud of his opening joke. Assured that he was doing well, she quietly excused herself and followed Mary to the hallway. Wynonna never called, and James would forgive her for slipping away for a minute.

Making short hurried steps, since the tight dress restricted her movement, Waverly made it to the small side table that housed the telephone. She removed the clip-on earring from her right ear and brought the handset to it. The coiled cord sprung up and down, tethering her to the rotary dial telephone and the person waiting on the other end.

“God, fucking, piece of shit…” Wynonna’s voice reached her between clanking and static noise.

Waverly smiled against herself. Nothing would ever tame her sister, not even age. “Wynonna? Are you still in Europe? It must be long past midnight for you!” she chastised, easily falling back into her role as _the reasonable one_.

“Oh, thank fuck. Hi, Waverly. How are you? Good. How am I? Also good. All right, now that we’re done with pleasantries, I have something important to tell you,” Wynonna said in rapid-fire. She was breaking up, and Waverly shuffled closer to the telephone as if that would somehow improve the transmission.

“Nonna, slow down. Is everything all right?”

She heard her sister take a deep, shaky breath. “I found her, Waves. I found Nicole.”


	2. Past. May 1939.

Past

May 1939

“Waiter, another round! And some pickles!” Wynonna hollered.

Even though it was hard to see from inside of a smoky bar, it was still bright outside. Waverly’s head was already heavy with vodka, and she knew she better slow down and not try to keep up with Wynonna and the rest of their motley crew, all of whom were older and more adept at that than she was. It was a hot day, hotter than any day in early May that she could recall from London, and that only fueled all of them to party more, to laugh harder, to live stronger.

“Care for a dance, Waverly?” Doc asked, touching the brim of his cowboy hat, and she couldn’t see a reason to decline. Ever since their first meeting, Waverly has had a good feeling about Doc. He held her hand and helped her to her feet. “Play something catchy, Władek! One of your new songs, perhaps?”

The soft jazz tune ended abruptly with several off-key notes. Władek swallowed a shot Wynonna generously left on top of his piano and began a more upbeat song. Before Doc had a chance to start leading Waverly, the music stopped again, as Władek jumped off his bench and jogged to their table to steal a pickle. On his way back, he winked at Waverly, causing her to blush and giggle. The song resumed, and Waverly was caught in a whirlwind of dance, laughing carelessly.

Waverly’s father was a salesman for IBM, a company specializing in tabulating and recording data, and he had to travel extensively for work. Since he was expected to spend most of the upcoming summer months between Berlin and Warsaw, he caved in and allowed the sisters to stay put for the time being. For Waverly, freshly graduated from high school, this was the first opportunity to experience life outside of their small London flat. When given a choice between Berlin and Warsaw, they both had preferred to spend the summer in Poland. Berlin was exciting, yes, but having had already visited enough times there, they both agreed that it felt like it was suffocating in decadence and brewing something foul. Warsaw, on the other hand, teamed with life and joy and youthfulness. The streets and restaurants were full of people of all cultures and walks of life, making them feel oddly at home.

Take their little group, for example – the Earp sisters were British, and so was Doc, even if the cowboy persona he donned on every day would suggest American roots. He made money performing on the streets, and he was very convincing, but every now and again – mostly in the state of drunkenness – his accent would slip. Waverly didn’t think anyone else had noticed, but it always delighted the Brit in her. Contrary to Doc’s extroverted nature, Dolls was a quiet fellow, and Waverly couldn’t say that she knew all that much about him other than the fact that French was his native language and that he ended up in Poland at the end of the Great War. Their resident musician, Władek, was a pianist, and he was good enough that he recently landed a gig with the Polish Radio. Depending on the context of the conversation, he would alternately claim to be Polish or Jewish. A Polish Jew, perhaps – not that it mattered around there. And finally, Ida, who sometimes accompanied Władek on her violin. Waverly had assumed she was Russian, but after seeing her yell something in Yiddish at the local band of rascals just last week, she now knew she only had a portion of it right. Barely a year older than Waverly, Ida had a bubbly personality and contagious laughter, and when the two of them got together, both would inadvertently end up babbling and giggling until the early hours of the morning.

Speaking of the devil, Ida walked through the door, fanning her face with a piece of paper. Her straight, black hair fell freely over her shoulders, and Waverly – still getting swirled around the tiny dancefloor – tried to remember to offer her one of her extra hair ribbons once they sat down. Following Ida was a stranger – a woman close to Wynonna’s age, wearing a pair of brown slacks and a loose shirt. Her attire wasn’t necessarily usual, but it didn’t provoke a second glance from any patrons of that _fine_ establishment either.

The song ended, Władek went back to jazz standards, and Waverly headed back to their table, skipping a step on the way. She approached it just as Ida was introducing the newcomer.

“Everyone, this is my friend, Nikola. Nikola, this is everyone.” Ida collapsed in a heap on an old wooden chair. “This heat is unbearable! Can we get some soda water?”

The new girl waved at everyone and remained standing, clearly uncomfortable. Wynonna took it upon herself to continue with the introductions. “Nicole, huh?” She forced a shot-glass of vodka into her hand, not listening to the clarifications about the proper pronunciation of her name. “I’m Wynonna. This, here, is Dolls.” She pointed at him across the table. “The cowboy at the bar is Doc, and the handsome devil on the piano is Władek.”

“And I’m Waverly,” sensing her sister might skim over her, Waverly introduced herself, going as far as extending a hand in greeting. They shook hands for a bit longer than was customary, and, for reasons unbeknown to her, Waverly couldn’t erase the dumb smile off of her face. The alcohol must have really gotten to her head as she suddenly felt even dizzier than when Doc spun her on the dancefloor. To her credit, Nicole didn’t seem to mind, gifting Waverly with the sweetest smile, dimples and all!

Always eagerly jumping between subjects, Ida clapped her hands and proposed excitedly, breaking whatever spell Waverly and Nicole were under, “You know what would extinguish this heat from hell? Water!”

Everyone looked at Ida as if she grew two heads, or at least had suffered a heat stroke. Dolls poured her a glass of carbonated water, albeit - left at room temperature - it was arguably rather flat.

“No, dummy,” Ida giggled. “Let’s go to the river. I swear it’s always at least five degrees cooler there!”

That earned her a more positive response. Dolls got up to his feet and donned the military jacket that had seen better days and was entirely unnecessary in that weather. Knowing well that even between all of them, they couldn’t afford good liquor, Doc ordered a bottle of cheap moonshine to go. Władek checked the time on his wristwatch and regretfully declined the offer; he had an evening gig at the Satyr restaurant.

The Vistula River cut the city in half, and one was never far away from it. The six of them made the short trek in under ten minutes and found an empty patch of sand and a few bushes to provide extra shade. The afternoon morphed into the evening, and much progress was made on conquering the moonshine. Whenever the bottle made its round to Waverly, she’d pretend to drink, while actually trying to sober up so that she could get to know the new addition to their group a little bit better. When Ida and Nicole got up to wade in the knee-deep water, Waverly followed suit. “So, how do you two know each other?” she asked, untying her shoes.

“Oh, it’s actually a funny story,” Ida started with a grin. “We went to a boarding school together back in Leningrad. We started as bunkmates, but let’s just say that trouble and mischief were always close on our heels, and they quickly decided to separate us. That was their greatest mistake,” she giggled. “As soon as they relocated me to a different wing, a sheer curtain in my room caught fire when I was trying to light a cigarette on my own for the first time in my life. Unknown to me, at the exact same time, Nikola was climbing the façade of the building to reach my second-story window, and she burned her hand, reaching for the metal windowsill. The fall was pretty nasty. Show her your scar,” she prompted.

Nicole - whose pants were already rolled up, exposing her ankles - pushed the left sleeve of her shirt up, proudly displaying a few centimeters long scar on her forearm. “The bone went right through the skin,” she said sadly, with the most convincing puppy eyes Waverly had ever seen.

“Oh, you’re seriously trying that trick with Waverly?” Ida laughed from her belly. “We know how much luck that scar brought you, but it was years ago! It won’t work on adult human women!”

Nicole simply shrugged, but the bright smile on her face remained unchanged. “Some girls just dig scars. That’s all.”

_Huh._

Waverly scrambled to change the topic because the newest information made her inexplicably anxious as her heart went for a jog, and her hands dove in a swimming pool of cold sweat. “So, uhm, hmm. So, where are you from, Nicole?” she asked, her voice oddly high-pitched.

“Leningrad, born and raised.”

“That’s St. Petersburg for you, Waves. I know how the rest of the world finds the name changes of our cities difficult to follow,” Ida teased.

“So, you’re also Russian?” Waverly wanted to clarify.

“My father is Russian, yes. But my mom is Polish. I come from an intelligentsia family, but we have some old aristocratic roots on my maternal side,” Nicole responded.

“Hush, better not speak of such things,” Ida reprimanded, unusually serious.

Waverly got lost. Again. “And… why is that?” she ventured carefully.

After a temporary silence, Nicole chuckled, not unkindly. “Ida mentioned you were blissfully unaware of the Eastern European history and politics. That’s quite refreshing!”

Waverly couldn’t argue with that assessment. But she happily latched onto another piece of information. “You talked about me?” Waverly turned to her friend.

“Guilty as charged.” Ida crossed her heart. “Now, I’m going to excuse myself while feeding you some plausible reason. That bottle of moonshine is not getting any fuller! Ta-ta!” Lifting her dress at her hips, she trotted towards the bushes where a low hum of conversation and laughter continued unperturbed.

~

After many more hours of conversations, both light and serious, some stone skipping, and one silly serenade on a grass blade, Waverly ended up in Nicole’s apartment. She wasn’t exactly a virgin, but the way Nicole made her feel that night, prompted her to follow Nicole home the following night, and the one after that, and the one after that. Before they knew it, Waverly became a permanent fixture in the two-room apartment on Miodowa Street, seamlessly fitting in with the old sofa bed, the new record player, and the often-used washbasin. Her steps on the creaky wood floors harmonized with the cacophony of sounds in the old tenement building. Her clothes made a slow migration across the Vistula River and into Nicole’s drawers, like storks flying south for the winter.

It was a summer of love and careless youth, of drinking and dancing the nights away, of building and sharing big and small dreams.


	3. Present. December 1972

Present

December 1972

She heard her sister take a deep, shaky breath. “I found her, Waves. I found Nicole.”

_Nicole._

One simple word, two syllables long, but it still smelled like blooming grass, it felt like hot summer sun on her skin, it tasted like pickles and sweat.

A chatter of noises from the living room reached her ears, snapping her out of the past. Someone must have turned the television set on, even though Waverly had coerced both James and Junior to promise to keep it off for this one evening. The characteristic TV statics filled the air. “ _We now go to our special report on the Watergate scandal. With President Nixon securing his re-election by a landslide mere weeks ago, we’ll ask the difficult questions about his prior knowledge about the break-ins and…_ ”

The volume was turned down, and Junior didn’t waste a second to comment, “Of course he knew about everything. The bastard probably planned the whole thing himself and is now just trying to cover it up!”

“You better keep the President’s name out of your filthy mouth, boy. He’s a true Republican hero, and I won’t have you spew that leftist propaganda under my roof,” James slurred back. Waverly hadn’t paid attention to how many drinks he’d had, and she was starting to regret letting him loose tonight.

“Easy for you to say, old man! For six years now, kids my age and younger have been shipped to Vietnam to die. For the past five years, Nixon has been promising it would be over soon, that the draft would end, that we just needed to push a bit more. What a bunch of bullshit!”

Just like that, the idyllic image of her home-life shattered into pieces. They’ve had that particular argument many times in the past several months, and all Waverly had wished for was for the two men to pretend to get along for one goddamned evening. She admired Junior’s idealism, and she recognized pieces of her younger self in him. Still, his refusal to take the job his father arranged for him out of law school, and his insistence on using his skills and expertise to assist the disadvantaged communities of the inner city instead, while surviving on less than minimum wage, had driven a wedge between them. Waverly knew hunger, she knew uncertainty, she remembered looking death in the eye, and she hoped her only child would never have to experience any of it. Yet there he was, consciously making those choices and putting himself in harm’s way after Waverly and James had worked so hard for him to have a better life.

Feeling an impending headache, Waverly rubbed her temple and tried to tune out the argument.

“Waverly, you still there?” Wynonna reminded her of her presence on the other end of the thousands-miles-long telephone line.

“Yes. Yes, sorry, we’re having a small party - a gathering, really - for James’s retirement tonight. I couldn’t hear you over the noise,” she lied.

“Champ? Blah. I swear that man is like a rodeo clown. I’ll never get why you agreed to marry him. He’s such a…”

But Waverly was not in the mood to hear another lecture from Wynonna or even as little as her ‘ _honest_ ’ opinion about her husband. She interrupted, “I’m sorry. Could you repeat what you said earlier?”

A pause. Another sigh. “Yeah. Well… We found her. She lives in Leningrad. Can you believe that? I mean, all these years, and she was just fucking _right_ there?”

Waverly didn’t know what to say. It sounded surreal. “You mean…?” She couldn’t even say it out loud. “How can you be sure?”

“I know what you think, but it’s not like that one time. This is real.” Wynonna hesitated. “I talked with her on the phone the other day.”

It clicked for Waverly. “How long have you known?”

“Waves…”

“How long?”

“Two months. But! I wanted to make sure. For your sake.”

Waverly fell silent. She wasn’t even mad at Wynonna. She just simply didn’t know what to say, what to do. They had searched for so long without much progress but with plenty of dead-ends. She had hoped for this day to come most of her adult life, and now that it was there, she was completely, utterly lost. “What now?” Her voice sounded almost panicked.

“Now? Now go and pack your shit, because you’re going to see her. You’re going to see Nicole.”

_Nicole._

One simple word, two syllables long, but regardless of the world going to hell and back since then, it still sounded like _love_.

Not for the first time, Waverly’s entire life changed in a heartbeat when she was least expecting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 70s in the U.S. were a turbulent decade. Vietnam War and the Watergate Scandal amplified the generational differences as well as set the stage for the modern American party dualism. It was also the decade when we saw the beginning of wealth inequality that only grew exponentially since then.  
> New York City, specifically, illustrated many of these issues throughout the 70s. It was the time when the WTC complex was constructed. (When finished in 72, the North Tower became the tallest building in the world at the time.) Luxury stores and apartment buildings lined 5th Ave. At the same time, the middle class fled the city to the suburbs, the economic recession decimated NY's industrial sector, and the city went bankrupt, defunding the police and fire departments as well as school districts. Not surprisingly, that led to a spike in unemployment and crimes.  
> The difference between these two worlds is best visible in pictures. Here's 5th Ave:  
>   
>   
>   
> And here are other boroughs, plagued by poverty, crime, arson, you name it:  
>   
>   
>   
> 


	4. Past. September 1939.

Past

September 1939

_“Hallo, hallo, this is Warsaw and all the Polish Radio stations. This morning, at zero-five-forty hours, German military units crossed the Polish border, breaking the non-aggression pact. Several cities have been bombed.”_

The small group of friends sat glued to the radio at the neighborhood café, shell-shocked and speechless. It was the first day of September, hot summer days finally giving way to cooler evenings. Children were due to go back to school today, their uniforms meticulously pressed by their mothers just last night. Waverly was supposed to babysit for Władek’s sister, who was a teacher. As was his routine, Władek was scheduled to play at the radio in the afternoon. Nicole and Dolls were planning to start working on his brand ‘new’ Victoria 99 Fix motorbike. None of their plans mattered anymore, and it was difficult to comprehend just how quickly the entire world-order could go to shit.

_“After all, war! Beginning today, all issues and matters must be put on the back burner. We must redirect our entire public and private life. We have entered a time of war. The entire struggle of the nation must be steered in one direction. We’re all soldiers. We must think of one thing and one thing only: fight until the victory.”_

Only yesterday, they all got together in the city park for a picnic, a few beers, and good laughter. Today, as they all tried to make sense of the fast developments, there was a rising feeling of togetherness and community. Tomorrow would bring uncertainty and possibly a harsh end to their youth. Things were happening so quickly, Waverly had a hard time following it all. She was frightened, she was worried about their safety, but above all, she felt young and helpless.

For being a major pain in the butt on most occasions, Wynonna was also acutely in-tune with Waverly’s distress. “Hey, don’t worry, kid. They have to sound so alarming on the radio to boost up the morale and encourage conscription. I’m sure as hell that the Polish allies won’t let her suffer, not with all these boring agreements they just signed.” Both Doc and Dolls looked at her curiously, and Wynonna shrugged. “What? I pay attention sometimes! The Brits and the French will not want to be caught with their dicks in their hands, is all I’m saying.”

“I never thought I’d say that, Waverly, but your sister is right,” Dolls sighed. “It sounds like the Germans made a gamble throwing most of their armies to their eastern border. The allies will have a relatively easy time opening the western front, and stretching them thin.”

The reassurances made her feel marginally better, but since she never paid much attention to the geopolitics and knew close to nothing about the world’s history, Waverly still felt scared and uneasy. Nevertheless, she smiled through tears, not wanting to alarm them further. Nicole scooted her chair closer and placed a calming hand on her lap. What a simple gesture, but it worked better than all the words in the world.

“We’re in this together, Waves,” Nicole whispered, and even though it wasn’t exactly a promise, Waverly believed her.

~

Not two weeks later found Waverly and Nicole huddled in a dimly-lit basement of their tenement. With them were an old couple from across the hallway from Nicole’s flat, a young mother of two from number 2 downstairs whose husband left for war, and two older actors from the National Theater. The bombings were infrequent, but Waverly had already developed a Pavlovian response to the anti-aircraft sirens and any suspicious noises or rumbling of the ground, which had typically been just large military transport trucks rushing down the street. She woke up every night sweating, convinced the building was crumbling around them, convinced she could feel the floor shaking.

They had spent the past week helping other civilians construct the barricades and blockades, as the Command of the Defense of Warsaw now anticipated the German forces to eventually reach the capital. All men had been ordered to leave Warsaw to meet in the East and be incorporated into the still-surviving army units. Dolls, unable to join the Polish Army, signed up to the Civil Guard, which replaced the police forces that had also left the city.

“Will you please leave with me?” Waverly asked, curled up close to Nicole underneath a grey felt blanket. “Wynonna says that she finally reached our dad in Berlin. He said that the Brits would start evacuating us soon after they coordinate the removal of the consulate and the staff. It’s all happening so fast; they just didn’t have any time to plan such a massive exodus.”

Nicole sighed. “Waverly, we talked about it… I can’t just leave. I’m involved in the Civil Guard, and there is still much to do to ensure the city is properly prepared for the siege. Look at Maria,” she inclined her head toward the young woman across from them, who held an infant close to her chest, while her two-year-old clutched her skirts, terrified to pieces. “Who will protect them with all the young men called up to the army?”

Waverly knew that was going to be Nicole’s response, just as it had been the last twenty times she asked. Still, there was no harm in asking, especially now that the full-on siege of the city was nearly guaranteed. Even if she didn’t want to leave with Waverly, she could at least journey eastward, like millions of displaced refugees, and try to reach her hometown in Russia. This really was not the time for Nicole’s nobility and selflessness.

“Besides, the French armies are already gathering on Germany’s western border. It’s only a matter of time, a few weeks at most, before this will all be over. Let’s talk about that instead, huh?” Nicole looked down at Waverly and hugged her closer. “What will you do when all of this passes?”

The ground trembled beneath them. A bomb must have fallen somewhere on the city, but not too close to them. Waverly trembled with it. Nicole’s change of subject wasn’t subtle, but Waverly appreciated it nonetheless. It allowed her brain to focus on something other than the dingy basement - something happy and sunny and calm.

“We could move away from the city center,” she ventured shyly. Never before had they discussed their future beyond the summer, and so she wasn’t sure where they stood. A gentle squeeze around her waist let her know that Nicole didn’t mind. “Maybe to one of the northern districts, even as far as Bielany, with all the open space and the fields.”

“You’d come back to Warsaw, then?” Nicole asked quietly.

“Of course, silly. You’re going to start the University in the fall – where else would I go?” Waverly shrugged coyly, although she understood very well the deeper meaning of Nicole’s question. _Do we have a future?_ “We can buy you one of those motorbikes, like the one Dolls just got, so that you can commute.”

Nicole smiled against her temple. “And what will _you_ do?”

Surprised with the question, Waverly took a long minute to think. She’d never had to consider it back in London – after graduating high school, she was expected to find a husband and settle down. There was no room for dreams or ambitions. Now, she wasn’t sure she had any, and so she started small. “I could tend for a garden, you know, just to grow some veggies for us. We could… we could get a cat that would roam the yard and chase the mice away and maybe… maybe a few chickens? We could name them,” she chuckled, “we could name them with the names of your professors once you start school.”

“That would be nice,” Nicole encouraged. “Anything else? Would you want to do something in the city? You’re good with kids. You’re also very bright – have you thought about going back to school? Or perhaps something with planning and organization? Lord knows there will be much need for that when all of this blows over.”

Waverly shuffled and looked up at Nicole. How come she had so many ideas, so many aspiring suggestions, when all Waverly saw herself do was tend to a household? She settled back down and answered honestly, “I’m not sure.”

“That’s all right. You have a lot of time to figure it out, and I want to be by your side when you do.”

~

It was hard to believe that it was only the last day of September, barely 30 days into the madness. It already felt like a lifetime. It already felt like they were all different people. They all sat around the radio at Nicole’s apartment, like that faithful day less than a month ago, exhausted from the siege and from the constant shelling and bombing that no longer avoided civilian targets. The Earp sisters were forced to stay put; with Germans surrounding the city, nobody could leave without risking being shot. Their optimistic hopes for the British and French to open the western front were crushed as the allies engaged in what many now called a _Phoney War_ – they had declared the war against Germany, but under the excuse of needing to amass more equipment and transfer more soldiers, they simply sat idly on the German border, letting Poland bleed. The news on the radio was increasingly gloomy; still, it was their only source of information, and they listened to it religiously, as if staying up to date would somehow save Warsaw from its impending doom.

Leaning backward in her chair, feet on the table, Wynonna was angrily whittling a stick, letting the wood shavings fall where they may. Doc was napping on the sofa bed, his cowboy hat covering his face. Waverly was cuddled close to Nicole, even though they sat in different chairs; the small amount of physical contact was sometimes the only thing that kept her sane. Somewhere from the kitchen, they could hear Ida cleaning for the umpteenth time. Although Nicole’s building had been spared in the bombings thus far, there was dust, always dust, that continuously settled on every surface, no matter how often you cleaned.

The radio creaked to life, and they all stirred excitedly, hoping for a piece of good news, however small it might be. _“Hallo, hallo! Can you hear us? This is our last transmission. Today, the German military units have entered Warsaw. Greetings to all the Polish soldiers still putting up the fight, wherever you may be. Long live Independent Poland!”_

And with that short message, all hope was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World War II officially began when Nazi Germany attacked Poland in September '39. By that time - as much as the allies hoped it wouldn't be so - it was pretty much unavoidable. Hitler had already annexed Austria and Czechoslovakia, and an underwhelming response from the European powers only emboldened him.
> 
> No one was really surprised when the war broke out. In the years and months leading to that September, Poland was bracing for it, signing pacts of non-aggression with Germany and agreements of mutual assistance with France and the UK. When the push came to shove, the allies _still_ hoped to avoid an outright continental war, sensitive to the losses of the Great War (WWI). Hitler made a gamble by throwing most of his armies to the Polish front. If the allies attacked Germany's western borders that fall, the war could have ended there and then. 
> 
> The radio announcements in this chapter are direct citations from that time.
> 
> To end on a more positive note, Victoria 99 Fix bike is a timeless classic. Just take a look at that design!  
>   
> 


	5. Present. December 1972.

Present

December 1972

After attentively listening to Wynonna explain all the details of getting her to Europe, Waverly hung up the phone and walked to her bedroom on shaky, leaden legs. All thoughts of the party currently taking place in her living room were forgotten. She couldn’t believe it was _actually_ happening. They had found Nicole! She had dreamed and daydreamed of that day countless times before, imagining different scenarios, some simple, some more elaborate. Still, Waverly never thought she would feel paralyzed like that. In her dreams, it was always a happy occasion, unencumbered by the realities of their current lives. In her dreams, she was younger, too, less burdened by the decades of experiences.

The vanity mirror caught her eye. Pausing in front of it, Waverly pulled back the skin around her eyes. She was no longer young, by any definition of the word. The effects of the passage of time on her body never bothered her much as they were a mere illustration of who she was and what sort of life she’d led. The crow’s feet around her eyes told a story of thousands of smiles she had smiled, and the deep vertical lines on her forehead, just above her nose, told a story of many more times she had worried. Would Nicole recognize her? Would she appreciate the lines left behind on Waverly’s face, even though she wasn’t there to experience them being formed one facial expression at a time?

She shook her head to derail the unexpected train of thought, and she backed away from the mirror. Her physical appearance was likely the least of her problems. Distracted, Waverly got onto her tiptoes and pulled on a luggage bag stashed on a high shelve in the closet, hardly ever used. An avalanche of objects came crushing down, forcing Waverly to shield her face; god only knew how many random items they had stored up there over the years. A clanking of metal drew her attention – it was a menorah they had failed to dust off that year. Was it already time for Hanukkah? It typically landed sometime around Christmas, but since it wasn’t on a specific date, Waverly could never remember. In the past, she tried at least to take it out when she knew that her in-laws were going to visit, but this year, with her mind preoccupied with planning the retirement party, it simply slipped her mind.

She left the mess on the floor and focused on the issue at hand. Bag on the bed, Waverly started throwing in clothes and cosmetics, without much organization. Her thoughts wandered to James’s parents again. They had emigrated from Austria in the early 20th century, long before World War II, but after a considerable rise in antisemitism. James was born there, in New York, and although his parents maintained some of the Jewish customs, they were not religious, leaving him only with cursory traditions. The American educational system focused so much on the Holocaust that any other Jewish experiences were marginalized, and as many other second-generation immigrants, James didn’t inherit or understand much about his parents’ culture.

As if summoned by her thoughts, he walked in. The bottom of his once crispy white shirt was untucked, his tie was missing, and the top button was undone. “Joe’s wife’s asking about you. Something about a recipe for pineapple cheese logs.”

Scowling, Waverly didn’t stop packing. James’s inability to remember the names of his friends’ wives grated on her nerves on a good day. “Tell Linda I’ll be right there.”

Only then did he notice the hap-hazardously filled bag on the bed. He wasn’t an observant man, she knew that, but this must have been a new low. “What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m packing, Champ,” Waverly was slowly losing her patience. She pinched the bridge of her nose and paused to take a deep breath. There was no need to cause a scene, she reminded herself, nor would it be kind to hurt him purposefully. Even with all of his shortcomings, he was a good husband, always there for his family. They had a fairly equitable and mutually-beneficial partnership, something Waverly knew was not always a given.

“I can see that,” his response was short as well. “Where are you going?”

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Waverly smoothed out the golden dress that suddenly looked out of place on her body. The gesture bought her a few valuable seconds to come up with a believable excuse. “I just got a phone call from Wynonna.” It was a good start and not a lie. “We had a family emergency in Europe. Our… aunt… passed away. I have to travel for a funeral.”

“Oh,” James blinked at her owlishly. “I see,” he added. Waverly was nearly sure that he didn’t, in fact, _see_. Not now, not ever.

As James walked toward the door, his polished black leather shoe accidentally kicked the menorah. Surprised, he bent over and picked it up, dusting it in the process. He stared at it for a moment as if mesmerized by the reflection of the light that permeated from the hallway. Setting it down on the dresser by the door, he said, not looking at Waverly, “As long as you come back to us again.” The bedroom door closed behind him.

Waverly’s brows crinkled against her will. She didn’t have any mental capacity to decode his words at that moment, but her eyes stayed glued to the menorah sat proudly on display as if it had always belonged there. She blinked only once her eyes watered. If James had little connection to his roots, Waverly – being only half-Jewish – had none. She thought about her mother then, for the first time in years. Michelle left when Waverly was still a child, and with her went all the possibilities of the Earp sisters ever inheriting her culture. She often hoped her mum had stayed somewhere in Great Britain and thus had managed to avoid the horrors of the war, but they could never find even a trace of her.

For the millionth time in her life, Waverly felt guilty. She felt guilty for giving up on finding her mother. She felt guilty for keeping her Jewish heritage a secret from her family and friends in New York. But above all, she felt guilty for making it out alive.


	6. Past. February 1943.

Past

February 1943

The moonless night provided little light to guide Waverly back home, and so she tried staying close to the buildings’ walls lest she accidentally stepped into the gutter or swerved onto the street and tripped on one of the bumpy cobblestones. Her steps were uneven because, apparently, even just two horrendous drinks made out of liquor of questionable origins were enough to make her tipsy these days.

She would have used her hands to feel her way alongside the walls if it wasn’t for the crispy winter air. Pushing her chin deeper into the coat and pulling her pocket-bound hands closer together, Waverly braved the weather. It wasn’t even that cold, she tried to reason with herself. Truth be told, Warsaw in the winter was nowhere close to the piercing humidity of London that had always seemed to chill her to the bones. Already in a bad mood after being stood up that evening, Waverly’s disposition turned even more sour at the thought of London and their likely-lost-to-bombings flat in the city.

In the darkness, when you couldn’t see the ever-present signs of war and occupation, the city felt almost regular. Waverly needed that night to let some steam off, just one night when she could feel and act like a typical twenty-something, getting drinks, dancing, and chatting the time away. She needed to forget just for a second about the world around them because the alternative – the harsh reality of _that_ being the new normal – was sometimes too hard to swallow.

Relieved to have reached their tenement, which she couldn’t even remember when she started referring to as _theirs_ , Waverly stumbled inside and trudged up the stairs to the second-story flat. She knew Nicole was likely asleep by then, and the thought of her drowsy body heat, trapped beneath the duvets, spurred her on. A sly smile crossed her lips at the idea of warming her freezing hands against Nicole’s stomach. She burst into the flat, her mind already forming images of their bodies tangled together, seeking warmth, comfort, and bliss.

Instead of a quiet flat and a sleepy girlfriend, Waverly found a large group of people congregated around their tiny coffee table. The floor was covered in burlap bags that served as some sort of organizational stations for a handful of rifles, guns, ammo, grenades, and much more. Surprised, Waverly didn’t have enough time to fully assess who was in the room when Wynonna jumped into action. She approached Waverly and closed the door behind her back. The last thing Waverly saw was Nicole’s face, apologetic and resigned at once.

“Hey, babygirl, what’cha doing here? I thought you were supposed to have a girls’ night out with Ida?”

“I was, but she didn’t show up.” How did Wynonna always manage to turn things around? Waverly should be the one asking questions, not the other way around! “What’s all that about?” She gestured toward the now-closed door to their second room.

“Oh, that?” Wynonna stalled. “You know… just… a few friends getting together.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe you. I saw the guns. What’s going on?” Waverly pressed. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried for a more serious tone.

Wynonna sighed. “Look, it’s nothing to be concerned about, Waves. We decided it would be better to keep you out of it in case things went south.”

We? “ _We_ decided?” If there was one thing that made her blood boil, it was Wynonna’s misguided overprotective streak. “I’m not a child, Wynonna! I thought you said we were in this together once we decided to stay in Warsaw instead of risking going back to London.”

“Okay, okay,” Wynonna brought her hands up defensively.

At the same time, Nicole snuck out of the room, making sure the door was quickly closed behind her. “Can you keep it down? We really don’t need to draw attention to ourselves tonight,” she asked quietly. There was something placating in Nicole’s tone, and she had an uncanny ability to defuse almost any conflict. She smiled softly at Waverly as if she had just noticed her. “Hi, Waves.”

Wynonna ran her fingers through her long wavy hair, a gesture she had started using as a crutch to calm her nerves. “Yeah, we’ll be quiet. But Waverly wants to know what we’re doing. You wanna take that one, Red?”

The look Nicole sent Wynonna spoke a thousand words, but it was spoken in a language Waverly didn’t understand, and that irritated her further. With a tentative smile, Nicole turned to Waverly. “We are…” She swallowed nervously. “We are doing our part to help our friends in the ghetto. You always said you didn’t want to hear about the current events, that they didn’t interest you or that you couldn’t follow, and so we thought to spare you this too.” Nicole finished the explanation with her arms outstretched, palms up, in a mollifying gesture.

“You’re what?” Whatever alcohol was still coursing through her veins, evaporated in an instant. Waverly glanced between the two. She shook her head. “You shouldn’t stick your neck out like that. Nothing good will come of this.”

“Waverly, you can’t be serious.” Nicole was taken aback.

“I am. Our lives are relatively safe. Why go and stir the pot? I know you’ve been helping with getting food across the wall, but guns? Nicole, that’s madness,” she pleaded.

“You don’t get it, do you,” Wynonna’s voice was quiet, but it seeped with anger and power. “People are dying. People are dying every day behind that wall. And if they somehow make it, they’re being shipped away for certain death.”

“You don’t know that,” Waverly defended, albeit weakly. There had been rumors lately, rumors of atrocities beyond what anyone could comprehend.

“Yeah, we do. And you know what’s helping that famous German precision in committing the largest genocide of our lifetimes? Computing machines,” Wynonna continued.

“No,” Waverly whispered.

“Waves, please understand, we need to help,” Nicole tried to interfere.

“It can’t be true.” Waverly shook her head.

“What did you think our father did on all of his business trips? What did you think the Nazis wanted IBM for?”

That went a step too far. Accusing some sort of intangible corporation of aiding the Nazis in the war effort was one thing, but implicating their father directly? Waverly wouldn’t accept it. She accused her sister of being a _liar_. Or was it an _attention-seeker_? (The years that passed since had blurred the edges of her memories. It didn’t matter.) Stomping her foot, Waverly turned on her heel and stormed off to bed angry. She needed time to formulate a plan to force both Wynonna and Nicole to drop that dangerous game of theirs.

~

Waverly woke up with a hangover – both physical and emotional. She knew she had to apologize, and she wasn’t sure what got into her the previous night. Turning to her side, she gazed at Nicole, whose profile was illuminated by beams of the morning sun, orange with white speckles of dust. She must have snuck into bed later last night and, giving Waverly space to be angry, she fell asleep, hugging the wall instead of her girlfriend. There was kindness in that face, kindness and righteousness, and Waverly knew that both Nicole and Wynonna had been right. She might not always understand the historical or geopolitical considerations they were discussing, but Waverly knew in her heart that they stood on the right side of things. Stretching a cautious hand out, Waverly wanted to touch Nicole’s face and gently wake her up. She had even already found the words to apologize.

Loud tramps of military boots against the wooden steps of their tenement disrupted the peaceful moment. Nicole shot up in bed, looking at Waverly with horror in her eyes. A few seconds later, heavy fists fell on their door. “Öffne die Tür!”

Nicole sprang into action in an instant. Placing a finger on her lips, she let Waverly know to remain quiet. “Einen Moment!” she yelled, jumping out of bed and dragging Waverly behind her toward a lonely wardrobe closet. Shirts, dresses, coats all hang there, mostly undisturbed until Nicole slid and forced them all to one end, revealing a false wall behind. Waverly had no idea of its existence. A small crawl space opened up, a cube of about one meter each way, and Nicole gestured for her to hop in. If Waverly had any inclination to stop and consider her actions, it was all decided for her with another round of banging on the door. Letting go of her hand, Nicole nodded decisively – a motion of assurance and love as much as a request for trust. Waverly squeezed inside. As quickly as it was opened, the small wooden panel was replaced, the clothes were moved back to their original position, and the wardrobe door was closed. Waverly found herself in complete darkness.

“Coming!” Nicole sounded much more collected than Waverly could have ever imagined. She was shaking, uncomfortably so now, and it took her mind long few seconds to catch up with the situation. Why did _she_ agree to hide? If anything, it was Nicole they should have made crawl in there. Waverly had never done anything illegal or clandestine in her entire life, and she knew close to nothing about Nicole’s and Wynonna’s plans and deeds. She tried to push blindly against the panel, but it was too late. The soldiers were inside their flat.

“Guten Morgen.” As soon as Nicole unlocked the front door, Waverly heard it be pushed violently enough that it slammed against the wall, although the tone of the intruder was anything if not pleasant.

“Johann?” Nicole asked, and there was an unmistakable recognition there. She didn’t get much in return.

He cleared his throat. “We’re looking for the two British girls.” Waverly heard someone else walk into their bedroom.

“I don’t know where they are,” Nicole responded, calm and collected, and Waverly could imagine the shrug of her shoulders.

There was a pause. _A swoosh of their bedsheets being thrown on the ground._

“Cut the crap, Nikola. We know they live here.”

“Sure, they used to stay here sometimes, but I haven’t seen either one of them in a while. Guess they left back for London.”

The door of the wardrobe opened rapidly, and Waverly’s heart dropped to her stomach. Her hand instinctively covered her mouth. She heard the hangers being shuffled. _A pause. A sudden thud against the back panel as if the guy hit the bottom of the closet with the butt of his rifle. Another pause and a sound of boots moving away._

“Search the other room,” Johann barked out. From the tone of his voice, Waverly assumed that he was losing patience. With the imminent danger now gone, she breathed out more easily. The door to the second door creaked open – Nicole had been promising to oil that damned hinge for months now – and Waverly prayed to whoever would listen that her sister didn’t crash on their couch last night and that the room wasn’t still filled with weapons. She strained her ears to hear better.

After a few moments filled only with sounds of objects being thrown carelessly and various doors and drawers being opened, Waverly assumed her prayers were answered.

Johann sighed. “Listen, we have it on good authority that their mother was Jewish, which makes _them_ Jewish. They’ll have to go with us. Do you understand?” The words oozed with an implied threat that chilled Waverly’s spine.

Nicole, to her credit, didn’t sound fazed. “I understand. As I said, I heard they left Warsaw. You know I would have helped you if I could. I’m not stupid.”

After another long pause, when Waverly envisioned an intense staring standoff, Johann cleared his throat again. “I’ll let you off this time, because of our past at the college. But if I ever find out that you lied to me…” Waverly didn’t hear the rest. She wasn’t sure if he had finished the threat either, or just let it hang between them unsaid. 

The heavy boots descended downstairs. The terror-inducing sound of creaky wood panels would stay with her forever. Waverly heard the front door close quietly behind them. She heard Nicole’s gentle footsteps moving confidently toward their bedroom. _The sound of the duvet being picked off the ground. The record player’s needle meeting the vinyl with a scratch. Billie Holiday’s singing voice._ When she heard Nicole’s steps moving to the second room, Waverly frowned, unsure why Nicole would delay freeing her from that uncomfortable cubby.

Two songs later, Waverly heard Nicole straightening the clothes in the closet. She whispered, “They haven’t left yet. I saw Johann send the other guy to the roof across the street. They’re watching. We have to wait them out.”

Waverly couldn’t even find her voice to respond. After a brief moment of silence, Nicole closed the wardrobe’s door. Time passed. Minutes. Hours. Waverly wasn’t sure how long, but they managed to listen to the majority of their vinyl collection. Her left leg was cramping, and her back was sore.

Finally, the door opened. “Waves?” The panel came off, blinding Waverly with light. It was still daylight, then.

Nicole helped her out and escorted her to the bed to stretch while searching hurriedly through the closet. “We don’t have much time. Here, throw this over your head and shoulders.” She handed Waverly an old embroidered shawl. “It was my mother’s. You’ll look more Polish.”

Waverly’s forehead crinkled again. “Why? Shouldn’t we just stay here? Where it’s safe?”

Dropping to her knees in front of the bed, Nicole threw the shawl on Waverly’s back. “See,” she smiled, “you already look like a _Zosia_ or an _Ania_.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Waverly admonished, but she couldn’t help the blush.

Nicole got up and extended her hand to help Waverly up as well. “Someone denounced you to the SS. Wynonna managed to get out already. She’ll meet you in Istanbul. Dolls is waiting for us at our meeting spot. He has contacts who know how to navigate the underground sewers to get people out of the city. We have been planning this evacuation route for months – granted, it was in case our group was compromised for other reasons, but we might as well use it now.” She looked at Waverly, really looked at her as if she was memorizing her face.

It was all moving too quickly. “I can’t… I can’t just leave,” she tried weakly, but there were no other viable options she could think of.

“You can. And you will,” Nicole assured. And Waverly had no choice but to trust her.

They hurried through the back alleys and tenements’ backyards – an interconnected maze of the city’s darker side. German patrols never ventured there. Waverly’s thoughts raced to the rhythm of her feet. She left all of her belongings at the flat – it would have been too suspicious to carry a travel bag. All of it – including her favorite summer dress! She wondered if she’d ever get a chance to reunite with it. And what of her friends? What about Ida? Was this the reason she hadn’t shown up last night? Her papers stated she wasn’t Jewish, but if someone was denunciating… Waverly shook her head.

“You didn’t even pause when they told you our mum was Jewish,” she said in between panting. It wasn’t an accusation, but even she was surprised that Nicole didn’t take a second to think about the consequences of hiding a Jew in Nazi-occupied territory.

Nicole, a step ahead of Waverly, turned her head to get a better look at her. “I knew.” And there was that shrug. “Wynonna told me in confidence about a month ago. She was worried about it getting out somehow.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

Ten minutes later, they reached a small courtyard. A skinny boy, no older than 12 or 13 years old, was talking with Dolls. His flat cap was clearly too large for his head as it sat skewed to the side, and he had a rucksack filled to the brim sitting next to his booted feet.

“Ah, you’re here,” Dolls stated, matter-of-fact. “This is Janek,” he introduced the youngster. “He’ll guide you through the sewers to the outskirts of town. You’ll be handed over to another one of our contacts and taken to Turkey to meet with Wynonna.”

After a cheeky head nod, Janek threw the rucksack over his shoulders and proceeded toward a rusted manhole cover in the corner of the yard. Dolls looked between Waverly and Nicole. “I’ll give you two a minute, but we must move.” He turned on his heel and followed the boy, leaving them alone.

Nicole didn’t waste a second. She gently grabbed Waverly by her upper arms and looked deeply into her eyes. “No matter what happens, I need you to know that I have never loved anyone the way that I love you.”

Tears filled Waverly’s eyes. Rationally, she knew that was the time to finally profess her love. She knew that it was also the time to say goodbye. Perhaps forever. But she couldn’t accept that. And somehow, to her traumatized brain vocalizing that four-letter word that had been stuck on the tip of her tongue for ages now would mean giving up, it would mean admitting defeat. And she wouldn’t stand for it. “We’re not doing this right now,” she wiped her tears off. “We’ll find a way to find each other again.”

Waverly threw herself into Nicole’s arms as the intensity of her eyes became too heavy. They fit so well, she thought, not for the first time, with her head resting perfectly beneath Nicole’s chin.

“It’s time,” Dolls called out to them.

Waverly snuck a lingering kiss on Nicole’s cheek, wet with tears and soaked with words unsaid, and jogged toward the manhole, following the disappearing figure of Janek into the damp darkness. She didn’t look back.

She didn’t look back, and that ended up haunting her nightmares even more than the sound of heavy boots on wooden floors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before and during the war, IBM was a company best known for its tabulating, counting, and organizing systems. One of its subsidiaries in Germany was responsible for developing and producing punch cards that helped the Nazi machine run the concentration camps. The operation was apparently controlled from IBM's New York offices and was subsequently covered up.
> 
> In 1943, Poland entered into the fourth year of the German occupation. It meant that the theater of war moved elsewhere, while the Germans treated Poland as a part of their territory. By that time, every major city had one neighborhood that was fenced off, it's residents forcefully kicked out, and where the Nazis relocated all the Jewish citizens to - they called these areas "ghettos." Warsaw ghetto was the largest in Europe, with 380,000 people crammed into an area of 1.3 mi2. 
> 
> For centuries, Poland had been the most tolerant country in Europe. That was reflected in the population of various religious denominations. 3.5-million strong, Jews constituted almost 10% of the Polish nation at the outbreak of war. After centuries in the country, many, if not most, were Poles, who simply practiced a different religion. 3 millions of them were murdered in the Holocaust.
> 
> By '42-'43 the word got out about the Nazi death camps. In the spring of 1943, in a heroic stance against being shipped off to die, an uprising arose in the Warsaw ghetto. They were already starved, lacked guns and ammo, but still decided to face a regular German army. The uprising was brutally crushed.
> 
> The Warsaw sewer system was used both by the Jewish fighters, and a year later, by the Poles in the Warsaw Uprising, as an escape and communication route. Chest deep in human excrement, traveling through the sewers was not only unpleasant, but it was also dangerous because of the noxious gases.
> 
>   
>   
> 


	7. Present. December 1972

Present

December 1972

Tall, modern buildings, with glass facades and bold rectangular designs, passed in a blur by the cab’s window. Berlin – well, _West_ Berlin – had sure changed a lot since Waverly last visited. Long gone was any evidence of war and destruction, but with it also went the classical architecture of the pre-war era. Even getting there was surprisingly much easier now since Pan Am had opened a direct route from JFK to Tegel airport a few years back. It was such an indescribable experience landing in West Berlin – a small island of western democracy surrounded by the sea of red.

When the cab stopped, Waverly was certain there must have been a mistake. She had given the driver the address to the Hotel Esplanade on Potsdamer Platz, but instead of a busy square teeming with pedestrians, cars, and trams that she remembered from before the war, she now discovered hundreds of acres of empty space. Only two buildings were left standing, and what was remaining of the Hotel Esplanade looked to be in dubious condition. The city had suffered major bombings by the end of the war, and Waverly assumed most buildings simply hadn’t survived it. Still, the evidence of vigorous reconstruction and modernization were apparent in the rest of the city. Why not there then?

Waverly thanked and paid the driver and got out of the cab, looking around uncertainly. Out in the distance, she saw what was possibly an explanation for the curious swath of empty space in an otherwise crowded city. _The infamous Berlin Wall._ She knew about it – of course, she did. Everyone knew about it. But _knowing_ and _seeing_ were two different things. And, somewhat surprisingly, it wasn’t _only_ the wall. The barrier also consisted of a barbed wire fence and rows of anti-tank ‘hedgehog’ obstacles. It seemed that perhaps nothing was rebuilt on that strip of land to create a no man’s land between the divided parts of the city.

After collecting her suitcase, Waverly made her way toward the hotel. Although they hadn’t seen each other in almost a decade, a woman stood leaning nonchalantly against the reception’s front desk was most certainly her sister. Her luscious hair was graying now, the very example of salt-and-pepper, and Waverly was surprised that she hadn’t dyed it. She had always taken her sister for a vain type. Wynonna’s attire – fashionable bell-bottom pants and a black leather jacket with fringe sleeves – wasn’t all that conspicuous either. Waverly had assumed that her sister’s classified employment at MI5 would force her to wear more appropriate clothing. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.

“Hey, stranger,” Waverly greeted cheekily. Their reunions were rare and far apart, yet the bond they formed surviving the war together was unmatched. There were times when they had gone without speaking to each other for months, years sometimes when Wynonna had been assigned to one top-secret mission or another. Still, there was nobody else in the entire world who knew Waverly as well as her sister, and no duration of separation could ever change that.

The smile split Wynonna’s face as she turned around slowly. “Hi, kid! Sorry I couldn’t pick you up at the airport. Let me take a good look at ya!” She grabbed Waverly by the shoulders and stared at her soul. Wynonna, for all her superficial goofiness and aloofness, had always possessed an uncanny ability to see right through her. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get you all settled, and then we’ll talk.”

A cute little key in hand, Waverly led them to the fifth floor. They chit-chatted about insignificant details, like Waverly’s flight and the dreadful winter weather in Germany that apparently made Wynonna’s knees ache. It was nice to catch up even if it didn’t feel like _them_ quite yet.

Once they located Waverly’s room, she took a few minutes to wash her hands. A few minutes to look at the face in the mirror and make sure that the person on the other side is ready to face whatever may come. When she came out of the bathroom, Wynonna was standing by the window, curtains drawn, revealing the Berlin Wall and acres of emptiness.

“I never thought I’d see us building another wall in our lifetimes. I thought we learned that walls hide the worst of human nature and create an artificial barrier between us,” Waverly said quietly, sitting on the bed and facing the window.

Wynonna didn’t turn from the window but nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah.”

A spell of silence enveloped them. It wasn’t entirely comfortable – they hadn’t seen each other for far too long for it to be comfortable – but it wasn’t awkward either.

“Do you ever feel guilty?” Waverly asked, breaking the silence. They had never talked about it, not when they were fleeing Europe, and not afterward either.

There was another pause. Waverly half-expected her sister to brush her off with a joke or an inappropriate comment, but Wynonna surprised her again. “Uh-huh.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Yeah, I do. We got lucky. Millions of others didn’t. And then our own father…”

“Even then. I regret not coming to his funeral,” Waverly admitted.

Wynonna nodded and glanced sideways at Waverly. “I spoke with him a year or so before he died, you know? He drank like a dehydrated fish and wanted to talk only about his trucks.” She shrugged.

If it was supposed to help Waverly, it didn’t. Her hand reached into the pocket of her sensible brown blazer, and she subconsciously started playing with a headscarf she had hidden there. It was one of the very few belongings she dragged across the world over the years, and it remained crispy white with beautifully embroidered vivid floral patterns.

Pushing off the wall, Wynonna took a few steps closer to Waverly and sat next to her on the bed. “She wouldn’t want you to feel guilty about her.” Her shoulder met Waverly’s in a supportive yet awkward gesture.

“I’m not…” Waverly was quick to defend, but there was no use in hiding anything from Wynonna. She sighed. “I just never thought we were saying goodbye forever, you know? I was so young… So young and naïve, and I just thought we would for sure find each other soon.”

“Life never quite works out how we planned, Waves. There’s nothing you could have changed.”

“Still.” Waverly disagreed. It wasn’t easy to verbalize the depth of regret she carried. “And now? What am I even doing, Nonna? Don’t you think this is complete insanity? For me to just up and leave? I have no plan this time, and that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“You may not have a plan, but I bet you know exactly what you want. Not seeing Nicole for the rest of your life is not one of those things.”

Wynonna was right.

“But what if… What if this is just a wild goose chase? I can’t… I don’t think I could handle that again.” Waverly worried the scarf in her hands. Against her better judgment and years of disappointment, she had allowed herself to get her hopes up.

“It isn’t. I promise. Tomorrow, we’ll walk through that checkpoint, and you’re going to see Nicole.” Wynonna gave her an awkward side hug. “This time is real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the '70s were a turbulent decade in the US, in Europe they also put a spotlight on the diverging trajectories of the West and the communist East. While it was the decade of hippies, funk, and protests in the U.S., it was also a decade where the Berlin Wall was very much a reality. It's difficult to compare pictures from 1972 New York with East Berlin and realize they were happening at the same time.
> 
> Before the war, Potsdamer Platz was a vibrant plaza, known as the busiest intersection in Europe.  
>   
> It was destroyed during bombings.  
>   
> Once the debris was cleared out, most of the remaining buildings were removed as well to make space for the Berlin Wall.  
>   
> 


	8. Past. May 1955.

Past

May 1955

Waverly could hardly conceal her excitement. She rushed out of the hotel room, forgetting her purse, and had to turn back to get it. Today was going to be the day! She skipped a step and hummed a Billie Holiday tune. Everything was planned out to a T; her hair was done, her dress was freshly ironed, and her spirits were up. It was hard to believe she had just spent 18 hours between three legs of a trans-Atlantic journey. Who cared! Today she was going to finally see Nicole again!

The only thing that pulled on her heartstrings was leaving Junior behind. She still had an image of the confusion painted on the toddler’s face as he stood glued to the airport window, while James kept a steady hand on his shoulder. All the same, Waverly knew she was doing the right thing. She had it all planned out. First, she’d find Nicole. Then, she’d have to divorce James and figure out a way to win the custody battle. But all that was in the _future_ for them to figure out. The _future_ they had been robbed of but could finally get back to sharing.

Opening the hotel’s door, Waverly’s face was met with the most pleasant spring sunlight. The sparrows were frolicking in the nearby bushes, and she felt as chirpy as them. She paused by the door, breathing in the sweet smell of blooming trees and flowers. What a time to be alive! Waverly hadn’t felt that young in years.

Walking down Stalinallee, Waverly couldn’t help but be impressed with the beautifully planned, broad boulevard that offered a variety of shopping and dining options that could rival anything she’d seen in the west. Even though the city had been rebuilt in the short decade after the war in a chunky style of socialist classicism, she didn’t mind the simplistic, one could even say, _unimaginative_ , architecture. After all, it got the job done of housing millions of residents who needed shelter after the war, and in some way, it felt familiar, reminding her of a simplified version of the brownstone apartments in New York.

Approaching Café Warschau, where Wynonna’s contacts indicated that Nicole worked at, Waverly giggled to herself. They had first met in Warsaw, and now they would reunite in _Warsaw_ as well. How cheesy was that?!

The terrace of the café was adorned with a large mosaic mural, made of thousands of tiny ceramic pieces, depicting a joyous, vernal scene with brilliant colors, flowers, and butterflies. With a smile on her face, Waverly thought that it summed up her good mood perfectly that morning. In a way, its folksy design also reminded Waverly of Nicole’s mother’s headscarf, which made her temporarily regretful as she had forgotten it at home. Never mind, though! There’d be time to share with Nicole how much that simple garment had meant to her over the years.

Waverly fixed her hair in the reflection of the café’s window and walked inside with a flourish, expecting to spot Nicole right away. She was fully prepared for a look of surprise on the woman’s face, followed by an emotional reunion. When she didn’t immediately locate Nicole, she sat down at the bar and ordered a cup of tea.

“Say, I’m looking for a woman who works here,” Waverly inquired with the bartender. “She’s about one-seventy-five tall and a redhead.”

“Ah, yes,” the bartender nodded in agreement. “Ursula, right? She’s in the back. Let me go get her for you.” And with that, he left.

Waverly didn’t think much about a different name. After all, many people changed theirs after the war for a multitude of reasons. If anything, she was intrigued by what had forced Nicole to abandon it. The longer she waited, the more her relaxed attitude was chipped away by nerves. She stirred the tea for far too long and adjusted and re-adjusted her blouse, making sure it lay just right.

The anticipation was sky-high. Waverly was rethinking how to greet Nicole. Her initial plan had been to wave and smile coyly as if no time had passed since the last time they’d seen each other. But maybe that wasn’t enough after more than a decade of separation? Waverly had been swept away from Warsaw under such sudden circumstances that still haunted her dreams. Maybe she should have had thought about something more profound to say? Something more meaningful? There was so much to explain, so much to talk about, so much to confess.

Her thoughts raced a hundred miles an hour, but she ran out of time. The double-swing door swayed open, revealing the bartender and a woman behind him, confusion wrinkling her forehead. It was a look of surprise, but not the kind of surprise Waverly was expecting.

She was tall, yes. She was also a redhead. But she was not Nicole.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Waverly said, grabbing her purse off the counter, and rushing outside. Tears filled her eyes, and she wiped them angrily.

Disappointment stewed with something fouler inside her. How could she be so stupid, so naïve to really believe in such a simple lucky coincidence? When Wynonna had written with the news that one of her coworkers found someone who matched Nicole’s description working in East Berlin, Waverly didn’t even question it. She had simply packed and traveled across the world, without as much as asking that they made contact with that person first. She should have known better!

People she passed on the street looked at her with pity and concern. Waverly couldn’t stand it, and so she took a quick right turn following the rear side of Stalinallee to her hotel. The image that greeted her, once she had enough time to fume and despair, was that of a ruined city, still very much in the process of rebuilding. The facades of the buildings facing Stalinallee might have been beautifully finished, but tucked away from the curious eyes of visitors, lay rubble and half-standing houses. Kids played atop the hills of brick, intersected by dirt and weeds. They were young enough not to remember the war, and she wondered if they had any idea how much pain and loss had originated from that debris. She envied them.

Once in her hotel room, Waverly didn’t even make it to bed. She collapsed on the floor and let the sorrow consume her. With the tears came overwhelming grief for the life and people she had lost, and a realization that it was finally time to let go of any notion of going back to how things had been. Somehow, that understanding was more painful than the last decade of searching and daydreaming, when she had cruised through life propelled by hope. On the surface, Waverly’s life was the front of Stalinallee, but on the inside, the ruins left after the war were becoming overgrown with weeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stalinallee (now Karl-Marx-Allee) is a boulevard in Berlin. Rebuilt after the war, it is a feat of Stalinist architecture. Today, you can still find some spectacular mosaics there, including the one by the former Café Warschau.   
>   
>   
>   
> 


	9. Present. December 1972.

Present

December 1972

Snow fell slowly around them, blanketing everything in clean whiteness, much different from the bland, grey scenery that had greeted Waverly yesterday. It wasn’t late in the afternoon, but the weak winter sunlight of Central Europe, combined with black clouds, made it seem like nightfall. A single umbrella and not even that many words between them, the Earp sisters waited on a bus-stop bench.

After an indescribable amount of time, the bus finally arrived, causing Waverly to fold her hands over her lap and squeeze hard to prevent fidgeting. Several people got off and went to collect their bags from the undercarriage. Waverly’s eyes focused on the bus door, but nobody else was disembarking. She hadn’t allowed herself to fully believe it was finally going to happen – not after the last time – so the blow wasn’t as devastating, but it still stung. Waverly’s chin dropped to her chest in defeat, and her hand found the comforting fabric of Nicole’s mother’s scarf, tucked away in her coat’s pocket.

That was it, then. The last chance – gone. Permanently. Irrevocably. 

The snow kept falling as if nothing had changed. Maybe it hadn’t, and wasn’t that the problem?

Suddenly, Wynonna’s elbow met her ribs, insistent and urgent. Waverly swatted her away; she really wasn’t in a mood for childish antics. “Quit it. I’m all right. Or rather, I _will_ be.”

“No, dummy. Look.” Wynonna pointed toward the bus.

Waverly’s eyes followed and landed on a tall figure stepping out, one stair at a time, while holding onto the rail. The person – woman – was wearing brown corduroy pants and a matching jacket, clearly well-worn, even from a distance, if the patches on the elbows were any indication. With the chunky snowflakes hindering the view, she didn’t spark an immediate recognition in Waverly’s mind; her hair was a different shade of red – perhaps dyed – and she didn’t carry herself with the same swagger Waverly remembered Nicole by, and it wasn’t only because of the slight limp. It was likely just another case of mistaken identity.

Wynonna jumped to her feet and trotted toward the woman. “You need help getting your bag?” Waverly heard her ask.

“No. That’s all I brought,” the person responded, pulling on the strap of a rucksack resting on her back. “I didn’t want to draw too much attention when I left.”

Their eyes met over Wynonna’s shoulder, and Waverly’s hand flew to her mouth to prevent an audible gasp from escaping. It was impossible, wasn’t it? Improbably unobtainable. But the brown eyes staring at her didn’t lie. It _was_ Nicole.

Waverly scrambled up and had to stop for a second from the dizziness that overcame her. Preserving her dignity and not without trepidation, she walked up slowly to the two women. “Nicole,” she whispered, opening her arms. “It’s really you.”

At the same moment, Nicole extended her hand in greeting. Right. They were practically strangers now, Waverly reflected, and hugging was not exactly appropriate. She pulled back, ready to shake Nicole’s hand, but Nicole changed course and was already leaning in for a hug. Waverly chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s really me,” Nicole said, regaining some of her confidence, and embraced Waverly.

The hug was brief, and it felt different than Waverly remembered, but not necessarily bad. Just _different_. They stood apart, looking at each other, examining the changes that were brought about by the passing time. The silence slowly became too heavy, too uncomfortable, as Waverly searched for something to say. She noticed her sister roll her eyes as if _that_ was helpful.

“You wear glasses now?” Nicole finally broke the silence. The question was trivial, yet Waverly appreciated it nonetheless. How else were they to get to all the topics that weighed heavily on her shoulders for the past several decades? 

“Oh, yes.” She subconsciously corrected them with her index finger. “Too many hours of grading papers will do that to you.”

“So you’re a teacher? That’s great, Waverly. I always thought you’d be good with kids.” Nicole gave her a warm smile.

“Sort of.” Waverly smiled back as she couldn’t prevent a blush from painting her cheeks at the praise. She could only hope Nicole would attribute it to the chilly weather. “I teach history at the university.”

“History?” Nicole was rightfully surprised. “I specifically remember you not caring one bit about it.”

“Well, things change.” Was she flirting? Oh god, _she was_ , wasn’t she? Even after all that time, Nicole still held the power of turning her into a blushing, blabbering school-girl. Clearing her throat, Waverly tried for a more professional tone. “I ended up studying Eastern European history in college. Something drew me to it… I even picked up some Russian – but it was years ago, so don’t even think about testing my comprehension!” she added hastily.

As Nicole laughed, Wynonna threw her arms over each of them. “All right, kids. I hate to interrupt this awkward flirting, but my tits are freezing. Let’s move this to that restaurant over there.”

Once seated, Wynonna immediately flagged a waiter. “Whiskey, on the rocks.”

He stared at her blankly, then laughed. “That’s funny, lady. Three shots coming right up.” Before they knew it, three shot glasses with clear liquid were placed on the table. Whiskey it was not.

“Fucking communism,” Wynonna grumbled, grimacing when the cheap vodka burned her throat. She promptly disappeared behind a large double-folded menu, giving them an illusion of privacy.

“So, Wynonna tells me you ended up in America?” Nicole tried to strike up a conversation.

“Yes. New York. After we… you know… After leaving Poland, we eventually made our way back to the Isles, but London was in ruins and our flat was gone. Our father got an opportunity to move to the US right after the war, and I sort of just tagged along with him,” Waverly tried summarizing. “There was nothing keeping me in the U.K., and we couldn’t travel back to Poland…” she added in a lower tone, confessing and asking for understanding.

Nicole’s eyes landed on her wedding ring. “Are you married?”

“Yes. And I have a son – he’s an adult now, but he was always such a sweet kid. Let me show you.” She pulled out a picture of Junior from when he was about 10, dressed up for Halloween.

Nicole listened attentively and looked at the picture when proffered. There was something subdued about her, that _New_ _Nicole_ , something sad and measured. She had never been the most talkative between them, preferring to listen, but now she was genuinely taciturn.

Carrying the conversation forward was a challenge Waverly was happy to except. “How about you? Married? Kids?”

“No, never got married,” Nicole smiled for the first time since they’d entered the restaurant. It was one of those secretive smiles that hid a second meaning.

Waverly marched on. “How about your job?”

“Uhm, it’s a long story,” she tried to deflect.

“We’ve got time.” Waverly wouldn’t give up that easily.

If the look she got back from Nicole was any indication, she appreciated the tenacity. "I moved back to Leningrad and tried working at the local police station – or, as we call it, the _militsiya_. It was all awfully corrupt, though, and I didn’t last long there. My disobedience at work, combined with my… uhm, how do I put it…” Her eyes sparkled as she paused and observed Waverly, looking either for any signs of discomfort or for support – Waverly wasn’t sure. “My _preferences_ , let’s just say. It landed me 10 years in the gulag. Now, I teach PE in a small elementary school, outside of the city.”

It was a lot to process. Waverly couldn’t believe how different their lives ended – not only different from each other, but also so, _so_ different from what they had planned all these years ago. She wanted to ask more questions, but it was difficult to find the right words when faced with such a harsh reality. Just then, the waiter reappeared with another round of vodka and asked for their orders, both saving Waverly and derailing her chance of steering the conversation toward deeper waters.

They ordered food, Nicole opting for the cheapest item on the menu, even though Wynonna had assured her that she was going to cover the bill. As the evening progressed, Waverly observed more and more signs of disappointment oozing from Nicole. Her eyes turned sad, her mouth would sometimes pucker to the side, and she continued to scratch her neck behind the right ear as if she was itching to get out of an uncomfortable social interaction.

Waverly started to panic and downed the next shot, looking for something to fill the awkward silence with. “Did you hear from any of our friends after the war? I know that Władek made it out alive, but I still sometimes wonder about Ida and the others.”

“Oh, yes. Ida managed to escape to Russia. I actually met with her a few years ago. Remember your last evening in Warsaw, when she didn’t show up to meet with you? She was informed on, just like you, but managed to leave that same night. When we met, she said she regretted not being able to let you know.” Nicole sighed. “Many others weren’t that lucky. A lost generation, really. War, uprisings, concentration camps, gulags…” She let it hang between them when the waiter interrupted with their plates.

Wynonna shook her head and rose her glass. “To the lost generation.”

Chasing the peas on her plate with a fork, Waverly pondered out loud, “You know, I still wonder how they knew about Wynonna and me. And Ida. Our papers were clean, so – obviously – someone must have denounced us. Someone who knew about our mother… But there weren’t that many people who we told…” She shrugged, no longer looking for an answer to the question that continued to rattle in her head for decades.

Nicole lifted her head and met Waverly’s eyes for the first time since they started eating. “It was Doc… I thought you knew.” She squeezed the fork in her hand so hard that her knuckles paled. “He was denouncing people from the beginning of the war. When the partisans learned about it, they dealt with him right away. I just wish I had a chance to see him one last time to ask about his motivations. After you two left and Dolls decided to travel to France to support the allied offensive there, I was Doc’s last friend left. What a stupid, selfish…”

“Bastard,” Wynonna muttered, going for another shot. When Waverly, lost in Nicole’s gaze, didn’t touch hers, she drank that one too.

It wasn’t that Waverly was drunk, but drinking three shots of vodka was three shots more than she was used to these days, and she wanted to maintain a vestige of clarity. The news about Doc should have been a revelation, but it didn’t feel all too surprising. She wasn’t furious, like her sister, neither was she indifferent about it. Waverly supposed that in the end, it was good to have an answer. And there were more pressing matters to attend to, there and then, instead of obsessing about one man’s actions decades ago.

Terrified that Nicole was somehow slipping away, that she didn’t feel the same way about her after all that time, Waverly felt the liquid courage propel her to cover Nicole’s hand still grabbing tightly onto the fork with her own.

Nicole reacted as if burned, pulling her hand away and looking around in a panic. But nobody was looking at them. Nobody ever paid attention to aging women.

“We should get going soon,” Wynonna interrupted, looking at her wristwatch, oblivious as ever.

Still spooked and increasingly disheartened, Nicole asked quietly into her plate, “What now?”

“We have papers for you to cross the border into West Berlin under a pretext of you giving a lecture there. It helps that you didn’t bring a large bag with you,” Wynonna explained, sliding a set of documents toward Nicole. “Once on the other side, we’ve arranged to move you to London. You’re still okay with talking to some of my coworkers at MI5 about your experience at the gulag, yeah?”

Nicole nodded her agreement. After Wynonna left some money on the table, they all got up to their feet, ready to leave. The sisters agreed to stay a bit behind, allowing Nicole to cross the border first in case anything went awry. Bundled up, they were met with howling winds and snow still diligently falling outside.

“I guess I won’t be seeing you, then,” Nicole whispered to Waverly as they stayed a step behind Wynonna.

Surprised, Waverly tried to search her eyes, but it was difficult to read Nicole’s body language in the blizzard. “Why do you say that?”

Nicole scratched behind her ear. “Well, with you living in New York and all…”

“Oh. Well. I’m not… I don’t know if you… The thing is…” Waverly stumbled over her words. She didn’t know where they stood, but she knew what she wanted. After a deep breath, she continued, “It was time for me to move back home, anyway.” She shrugged, but it was probably imperceptible underneath the many layers of clothes.

“You were… You’re going to move to London? But I thought…” Nicole’s eyes shone past the snow.

It suddenly clicked for Waverly. Nicole wasn’t disappointed _with_ her. She was disappointed because she made some assumptions about Waverly’s intentions. Waverly was such an idiot for not clarifying it sooner.

“Oh, Nicole.” She reached for her hand and squeezed it briefly. Nicole didn’t pull back this time. “You know that I never stopped looking for you? I even came to Berlin in ’55, but it turned out to be a false trail. I would love to… If you’d let me, I’d love to have another chance to get to know you and have you in my life.” Surrounded by falling snow and no people in their vicinity, it was easier to open up and allow herself to be vulnerable.

“You did?” Nicole sounded incredulous. She searched her pockets and produced a creased and faded old black-and-white photograph of Waverly. Wearing a flowy summer dress, the girl in the picture had the most contagious grin on her face. Waverly barely recognized herself. “This helped me through the camp. In a way, I felt like you never left my life, like you were always with me.”

Waverly beamed up at Nicole, even as her eyes filled with tears of joy. She felt the soft fabric of Nicole’s mother’s scarf still hidden safely in her pocket – a surprise she had planned to share with Nicole once they were safely in West Berlin.

Approaching the checkpoint, they slowed their steps. Finally, Wynonna turned back and handed Nicole her rucksack. “You go get them.” She patted Nicole on the arm. “We’ll see you on the other side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The atrocities of the gulags (forced labor camps in the Soviet Union) are often overlooked in the context of WWII and post-war Europe. People sent there were often simply political dissidents or minorities, including LGBT folks. It's estimated that nearly 1.6 million people died in the gulags, but many historians argue that this figure is underreported. The victors write the history, after all, and the Soviet Union emerged victorious after WWII. Plus, I suppose that as long as you're killing your own people, the rest of the world is more willing to turn a blind eye. 
> 
> We're currently in one of these moments in history, where it's worth remembering what authoritarian regimes are capable of.   
> Thank you for reading!


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